


Chicken Shits For The Soul

by UWotMaTe



Category: BBS - Fandom
Genre: All Pairs Welcome, Fluff and stuff, M/M, Slice of Life, one shots, prompts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-19
Updated: 2018-03-26
Packaged: 2018-10-20 19:32:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 15,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10669338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UWotMaTe/pseuds/UWotMaTe
Summary: Some banana bus squad One shots. I take requests and prompts!*Pairing will be added in the tags once they show up. Also more tags if need be.*





	1. Stars

Luke lay on his back. Above him sat the dancing stars and the moon. The lights of the city were miles away. There was only the gentle static of the car radio parked a couple yards back. The blanket beneath him was soft compared to the itchy grass that surrounded him in all directions. The crickets called out into the darkness creating a song with the wind’s xylophone of leaves. 

The taste of melted marshmallows clung to the roof of his mouth. A smile pinned his cheeks. There was the warmth of the summer to comfort him. And as comforting as it was, it was nothing compared to the other body snuggled up close.

His arms kept Ryan close. His hand ran in circles, traced their future, and tiptoed through the waves of his shirt. He had Ryan positioned perfectly on his chest. He could see the stars above in all their glory. He could smell Ryan’s shampoo and tickle his own nose with the unruly hairs that stuck up. He could protect him from the bugs who dared approach them. 

“You're doing it again,” Ryan spoke. Luke glanced down at the other with a grin. 

“What am I doing?”

“You're thinking about me. About us.”

“How can you tell?”

“Your heart beat told me so. It's very bad at keeping secrets.”

Luke chuckled a bit. He watched Ryan bounce on his chest. He moved a bit to sit up so he could see his beloved. The lights, no matter how brilliantly shining above them, did nothing to fully capture his beauty. 

“Is it now?”

Ryan hummed in response. He allowed Luke to finish adjusting before attempting to return to a comfortable resting position. He took Luke’s hand in his own, curling his fingers to keep them together.

“When you think about things, like your cat, work, responsibilities or even small reminders, you have a slow and steady beat. Ba-dum. Ba-dum. Ba-dum. When you think about me, or us, or our dates and our future together, your heart beats spastically. It loses its rhythm. It pounds harder. Bada dum-ba. You were thinking about us.”

“Is that so?”

Luke moved his free hand to toy with the curls atop Ryan’s head. He liked how they'd bounce right back into shape no matter what he did to them. 

“What were you thinking about?”

Luke pushed the air from his lungs to make room for his thoughts. His eyes could trace them in the stars. He pulled Ryan ever closer and pinned him to his chest.

“I was thinkin’ that I could stay here like this with you forever. But then I thought if we stayed here, we wouldn't be able to do anything else. I couldn't take you swimming or to the movies. I couldn't curl up with you in bed. I couldn't carry you down the aisle. I want to. I want to do everything. For you. With you. To you.”

“That's gay.”

“I'm going to hit you.”

Ryan could only giggle. On days like these, it seemed all he could ever do was giggle. Luke loved the sound of it. Ryan nuzzled in closer to Luke. 

“I'm teasing!” 

Luke smiled warmly. His eyes shut, drowning out the scenery he sat in. Suddenly only he and Ryan existed. He'd never before felt so at peace before. He placed a kiss gently on the crown of his head.

“I love you,” he sang.

“I love you too.”

Then silence fell about the two once more. Luke would close his eyes and let a small song slip past him in a hum. The two sat there, happy. Nothing in the world could ever take that away.


	2. Pinky Promise (Brock/ Brian)

Brock’s legs dangled yards off the ground. His arms were wrapped tightly around the trunk of the tree. His eyes were red and swollen with the tears that continued to cascade down his face. They never once left the herd of infant spiders that swarmed ever closer. 

“Brian?” His voice was a weak plea that his companion was just barely able to catch. Brian was making his way up the tangle of branches. As he moved he slapped away as many spiders as his little hands could.

“You're ok. You're going to be ok. I'm coming to get you,” he assured. 

Brock felt something tickle his hand. He sparingly took his eyes off the spider children to see what it was now inching its way up to the inside of his elbow. The large thing made him want to puke.

Brian pulled himself up and onto Brock’s branch. He spent several minutes saving the other from the eight legged beasts. He secured an arm around Brock’s shaking shoulders and whispered soft comforts. 

“See? They won't get you. I won't let them. You're safe with me. I'll protect you. ”

“Promise?” 

Brian smiled. He extended his free hand with his finger as stretched as he could get it. 

“Pinky Promise.” Brock’s pout vanished and a grin cracked his face. He happily linked his pinky and the shaking stopped.

The two continued to climb the tree of life. They went from six to thirteen far too fast. Their last year of junior high hadn't been extraordinary. 

Brock wandered the halls a quiet shadow most forgot about. He spoke only when spoken to and prefered his own company more than he did the company of others. Rumors bounced off his back. Occasionally they'd land in his ears, but most of the time he never caught wind of the wild stories made up about him.

All the while Brian had surrounded himself easily with large groups of people who all called him their friend, but he couldn't see it in himself to return the name. Popularity made his name as common as a curse word. Everyone knew his name. 

The two walked in two completely different worlds. They only ever collided when their paths crossed in the halls. Brian would be lost in a crowd of others desperate for his attention and approval. Brock wove his way past the crowds simply eager to get to a quieter place. Before long the other students would spot him and judgmental words would bubble from their mouths. Brian’s world grew quiet. Brock’s grew loud.

Brian would smile and rush to him. He'd spend as much time as possible standing in the crowded halls talking with Brock. The little moments like this were his favorite part of the day. He'd sometimes forget himself and the time and he'd find himself late to class. He didn't mind. In his opinion it was worth it. 

The final bell would ring, forcing the two to run to their classes. Brock would smile from ear to ear.

“See you at lunch,” he'd chirp. 

“Promise?”

“Pinky promise.” And the two would secure the promise the same way they did every time. They clung to each other for as long as they could until distance forced them apart.

A thousand lunches passed them by as time continued to crawl. High school bum rushed them. 

And while time had changed, they really hadn't. Brock had become nearly mute when he was around his peers. He found that they were often too busy in their own worlds to bother to notice him. Brian had kept the name he'd earned in junior high. He'd grown confident and cocky. His nose was normally held high with pride and a grin would challenge all and any to try and beat him. 

His attitude had gotten him into more trouble than he was willing to admit. Others were looking for fights and he was more than willing to put up his fists. He would talk himself up. He'd set dates and places. He'd get himself a crowd to root for him. 

Before he knew, it he would be in the parking lot surrounded by a circle of students. They'd be shouting and cheering. He'd toss up some choice words to fire things up just a bit more. He didn't like to take the first blow, so often he had to pull anger out of his opponent. In nearly no time at all they'd be exchanging blows. The crowd would go wild in screams. Then they'd all fall as silent as the dead man’s grave. Brian would freeze in the middle of whatever he was doing. Everyone would. His blood would run cold and he'd feel a single pair of eyes burn past his flesh and into his soul. 

He'd look up and find the crowd had parted like the red seas. Brock would stand there, arms crossed and foot tapping. 

Somehow the tension he managed to create was far more than anything these fights could ever hope to reach. Every heart would sputter and jump. Guilt would overwhelm the crowd and slowly they dispersed. 

Brian got to his feet and quickly began to explain himself. Brock didn't have to say a thing. With a single lift of an eyebrow he had Brian mute. He'd then turned and lead the way back into the school and down the halls. Brian would follow slowed by the chains of shame. His friends and peers would cast glanced towards him, some of pity, some of concern, some of apology. 

They always found it an odd phenomenon how Brian was feared amongst the lower class men. They spoke his name carefully so as not to trigger and unfortunate mess of rumors and trap themselves in an unwanted fight they would be sure to lose. This boy was seen as a near king. All knew better than to ever really mess with him. None dared stop him. And yet he'd bend backwards at the smallest twitch in Brock’s face. Brock, they thought, the quiet kid most had forgotten about. He was the dragon tamer. 

Brock would always find himself back at his locker rummaging around for the first aid kit he'd learned to keep on him. He'd sit Brian down and tend to the swollen cut of his cheek, the skinless knees, and the busted knuckles. 

“No more fights,” he demanded. 

“No more fights,” Brian would echo. Brock suddenly lifted his eyes from his handy work to meet Brian’s.

“Promise?”

Brian smiled. He freed his bandaged hand and caught Brock’s. Fingers intertwined and caged each other close. 

“Pinky promise.”

They didn't let go. They didn't let go even when they were suddenly thrust into the whirlwind of college. They found themselves in a small, ugly, and uncomfortable dorm. But it was home. 

Brian had lost the popularity he'd had back in high school. He'd kept about him a select handful of friends he'd occasionally go drinking with after a big test. Brock had found himself in a larger friend circle than he'd ever had in his past years of schooling combined. Many of his peers flocked to him in need of tutoring or notes. And he was always happy to provide what he could. 

Brock had completely dedicated himself to his studies. He would spend hours memorizing every last written word that painted his notes. He never found the time to drink with Brian or friends.

Brian would spend hours at a bar laughing and watching what ever game was on. He'd stumble home as quietly as he could so as not to wake Brock, as sleep would come to him less and less. But no matter how late he made it home he'd always find their light on and Brock would be hunched over his text books cramming for another test.

Sleepless nights painted dark bags around his eyes. He fell ill relatively quickly. Some days it was difficult for him to hold down food he was so stressed. He was losing weight rapidly. It wasn't long until he'd been hospitalized. 

Brian had stayed besides him as the two waited for Brock’s recovery. The two returned home in near silence. Things returned to how they had once always been. That night, when Brock moved to his desk to study, Brian didn't go to bed right away. He lingered in the room a moment.

“Don't-” the words never found his head the way they should. Not in the way he wanted. Brock looked up in wait for the rest of the sentence. Brian sighed heavily before moving closer a placing a kiss over Brock’s head.

“Don't stay up too late.”

“I won't. I pinky promise.” Brian grinned linking their fingers together before heading off to bed.

Not long after, Brock joined him. In due time, the two joined each other in more ways than they ever had before. They started dating in their sophomore year of college. 

Brock had a surprise for Brian in their senior year. Job hunting had become more of a priority. The two already had jobs, but now they felt they'd be more able to branch out and find better. Brian had found himself stressed. Brock just wanted to see him happy. So the surprise was made. 

He'd been planning it for a while. He was giddy with excitement, a show that Brian hadn't seen in ages. Brock couldn't stop his smiling. He treated Brian with breakfast in bed before disappearing for a bit. He came back just as happy and excited as when he left.

“Brian?” He called once home. The other peeked his head about the corner and greeted Brock warmly. Brock then dashed over and caught Brian’s hand in his. He gently pulled his boyfriend from his seat and lead him to the door.

“Where are we going?” Brian had asked past a small fit of giggles. He only ever seemed to get these giggles when he was around the one taking charge. Brock could only smile bright and wide.

“Just common!” 

Brock lead Brian from the dorms to a small restaurant. It wasn't anything fancy or special. It was in clear need of a fixer upper but the two didn't mind. The two sat down as if they belonged there. In a way, they did. Brian remembered this place well. This had been where he'd asked Brock out nearly two years ago. 

The two sat and talked, genuinely talked, for a good hour over food. Neither could lose the smile that had taken over their faces. There wasn't any reason to. Once the two were done, with the bill paid and the waitress tipped, Brock lead Brian out and away once more.

This time to book store. Brian had found himself quite the visitor of this place during his freshman year. His business classes demanded much from him and his text book wasn't enough. He'd dragged Brock along for the hell of it. It felt odd for things to be reversed. His eyes lit up upon realizing what this place meant, just as the last placed meant something.

“This was where I'd first told you I loved you,” he sang softly. Brock nodded. 

Now they stood in front of a lake at a nearby park. After stress hospitalized him, Brock had fallen in love with the place. He loved the sound of the wind on the water and the small balls of fluff and feathers that were the goslings in the spring. Brian would take him every Saturday to sit and enjoy the outdoors. 

Brock lead him to the bench the two claimed as theirs years ago. But they didn't sit. Instead, Brock gave Brian a moment to find what this place meant, what memory existed here. It came to him slowly, but he found it. This had been the place where he'd once named off every last detail and aspect of Brock that he loved. He had talked for hours, he included everything. He'd done so on Brock’s birthday. 

Brock giggled a bit before sinking to his knee. Brian’s hands ran to cover his face as everything clicked into place. 

“You've stuck by my side since the day I got stuck in that tree. You've kept your promise to be there for me. You've kept your word every time. I know it must be selfish of me to ask of you to keep your word one last time, but will you promise to be mine, forever and always? Brian, will you marry me?”

Brock was barely able to get the last words out of his mouth before Brian tackled him with a hug and a thousand kisses. Tears dampened his cheeks and he couldn't stop laughing. 

“Only if you promise to marry me too.”

Brock grinned. The ghost of a child made memory flashed in the redness of his cheeks. He held up his hand just as they always had. 

“Pinky promise.”

The two then held each other there, in front of that lake, connected by the mouth in a kiss intended to hold a memory worth a million promises kept, and a million more to go. Brian’s new ring gleaned against the moon. It was perfect there.


	3. Stranger (Luke/Ohm...again)

Not a lot of people could spark an interest with Luke. He had a very specific set of expectations that were difficult for people to ever reach. Men especially. But there he was, sitting alone with a phone to busy him, a man who somehow fit all of his high set standards. 

Luke snuck a couple of pictures of the man for keeps, having seen so few visually appealing men. 

He wasn't exactly tall or short or thin or heavy. Perfectly average. Symmetrical too. His features were evenly spaced and fit almost too perfectly on his face. He glanced up when he felt someone staring and squinted as if he was trying to see past Luke and Jon. He bit end of his lip and Luke almost lost it then and there. That was a hell of a look. He almost wanted to picture that look beneath him. He wanted to watch that look suddenly shift into one of pure ecstasy and pleasures he wanted to be the reason why. 

He wanted to go and talk to him, say hi, start chatting, and break the ice. He wanted to somehow give Jon the slip and whisk the stranger away for a night of fun. He wanted to do a lot of things at that moment, the only thing stopping him was social norms and expectations.

Jon spoke up, but his words fell on a deaf man’s ears. He looked up at his friend to see what was distracting him. If it was his phone he was gonna take it and chuck it as far as he could. He was startled to find Luke staring off into space. He dared to try and figure out where into space. His eyes landed on the stranger. He looked back and forth from the stranger to Luke, slowly putting two and two together. 

Jon watched the stranger with a cheeky grin. He turned back to Luke excitedly.

“I can cause a scene and you can save him from me,” he suggested quickly. The sudden conversation startled Luke. 

“What?”

“Well, you've been staring for a while like a lovestruck puppy. I'm just trying to help you out.” He shrugged, his cheeky smile only growing much to Luke’s annoyance. 

“No, don't scare him. I also wouldn't know what to say.” 

“Just saying, man, staring’s a bit creepy.” 

“So is sneaking pictures but I'm gonna do it anyway.” Luke quickly snuck a couple more pictures just to be safe. Jon felt his own phone vibrate. 

“Who the fuck keeps texting me?”

Jon looked down at his phone to read the text he'd just received.

“Ohm lives in the area right?” Luke nodded. At the moment he couldn't give a shit about Ohm. He was far more interested with the stranger.

“He said he saw you. He's here. He's asking me if he should talk to you.” Jon informed.

“Only if he knows who that motherfucker is.” 

“I'll send him a picture,” Jon joked. He then snuck a pic and promptly added Luke’s demands. 

Luke watched as the man suddenly glanced up again before returning his attention back to his phone.

“He asked why you wanna know?”

“Does he know him or nah?”

“Ok, he says yes and wants to know why.”

“Tell him whatever the fuck you want, I wanna talk to mister hottie over there.”

“K, Luke’s head over heels and has a big boner rn, and send.” Luke shot him a harsh glare that only made Jon laugh.

“If that's Ohm’s friend and you just totally scared Ohm and now he's gonna tell that cutie, I’m gonna kill you.”

“Ohm responded! He said, ‘o boi’ I think I scared Ohm.”

Luke watched the stranger look around uncomfortably, visibly blushing.

“He asked if I'm here too. Bitch! You know it!” Jon laughed. Luke glanced over at Jon who was now mumbling to himself. He turned his attention back over to the stranger when they got up and tossed their phone into their pocket. He walked slowly over as casually as he could before taking a seat across from Luke with a soft grin. 

“I was worried Luke would jump me if he and I were alone, but knowing Jon’s here makes me feel safer,” he spoke. Luke’s eyes shot wide open upon hearing the voice. The man giggled before extending a hand and biting the tip of his lip in the same way that sparked Luke’s interest in the first place, ”My friends call me Ohmwrecker but you can call me Ryan.”


	4. Cases (John/Smitty...slight Tyler/Craig)

I was the son of a mother who liked to drown her sorrows in alcohol and a father who was too paranoid for his own good. I was taught by both to be silent and careful. Mom taught me to keep all thoughts to myself. “There's no thought that can't be killed by vodka,” she'd sigh. My Dad taught me to always look for mirrors, windows, anything with a reflection so I can see who's watching me because “There will always be someone out to get you,” he'd warn before returning to watch through the cracks in the blinders.

Needles to say, I grew up quiet and skeptical. My favorite places to be were ones that had no windows, no noise, no disturbances. The library was the only place that fit such a description.

At first I hated it. I didn't like its smell. I'd already read what interested me. I didn't like the lack of privacy as it was a public library. I hated the librarian who glared at all who came to her for help. I hated the kids who shouted at their mothers. I hated the buzzing of the dying lights. 

But I fell in love with it. Well, no. I will always hate that library. I meant to say that I fell in love with the memory of it. And not even if it. That library could burn for all I care. I love the memory because that's where I'd first met him. That's where I met Smitty.

I had been seated comfortably where I could easily watch the doors. I kept note of every face that came in and every face that left. It was important to me. To this day, I can't remember seeing Smitty enter. I remember how he just suddenly appeared at my side, creeping about and watching the librarian’s desk placed just besides the doors. 

He'd annoyed me greatly at first. I hated how he just waltzed into my space and stayed put. Then he smiled at me. 

I've been smiled at before. Amy from school liked to smile at me. Her friends liked to drop hints that she was interested. I liked to be painfully blunt and inform her that I wasn't. Amy smiled with her teeth. They'd cut into her lip. Her eyes would look me up and down. Not Smitty. No. See, Smitty smiled with his whole face. 

His eyebrows were arched. His smile pushed his cheeks to the side to expose only the slightest bit of his teeth. He'd bite gently on the tip of his tongue in excitement. All the while his eyes were half hooded with his eye lids. 

“Wanna help me with a case?” He asked oh so softly. He watched me for a moment before looking back over to the desk.

“What's a case?” 

“The question, my friend, isn't ‘what's a case’, it's ‘what case?’ This is case B25. Wanna help me out?”

I glanced nervously towards the librarian’s desk. The woman seated behind it had her eyes fixed on the computer screen before her. Her glasses were slipping off of her nose. God I hated her. 

“Help how?”

“That's what I like to hear! Alright-” he moved out of sight and pulled his backpack into my view-”that witch, for whatever reason, hates sticky notes. So I need help covering that entire back wall with sticky notes.” He then proceeded to pull a surprising amount of sticky notes from the bag. 

“The entire wall?”

“Wow, you sure do like your questions. Yes, the whole wall. Floor to ceiling. Oh, but I want to leave her a message.”

He tossed me a pack and began to move away. My parents had taught me well not to talk to strangers. But this boy was younger than I was, clearly not out to get me, and I was beyond curious. For whatever reason, I trusted him wholeheartedly. Everything about him intrigued me. His cases. His excitement. His unique personality. His fashion sense. How he managed to smile with his whole being. He was vibrant, a harsh change to my gloomy world. One I didn't know I needed.

I hadn't noticed that I'd gotten up to follow him. I hadn't noticed that I was helping him peel away sticky notes. I woke up, I guess you could say, in the middle of helping him create a middle finger in bright, neon pink sticky notes on the wall. He had moved to fill in the spaces in a neat pattern of blue and yellow. 

Every now and again I'd look back over my shoulder just to make sure we hadn't been caught. The librarian never once looked over our way. It took us an hour, but we'd finally managed to cover the entire wall in sticky notes. He grinned giddily and pulled me away from the crime scene to hide closer to the stairs behind the young adult section. 

“Now we wait.”

“Shouldn't we leave? What if we get caught.”

His face fell and I'd never seen such an offended expression before in my life. I watched his heart shatter in the crinkle of his eyes. 

“Leave?” He asked, barely able to speak. “Imagine you had made a cake, a brilliant cake, a cake you spent days to prepare. You love this cake. You've never made one better. What is that cake’s job? To be eaten. Wouldn't you want to see others enjoy your cake?” It was an odd scenario he'd put me in, but it got the point across. I sat back and watched expectantly.

The librarian finally got up from her seat. She snatched up the book cart and began to drag it about, placing each book back in its rightful place along the shelves. She finally made it to the back wall. The book she’d been holding toppled to the floor and she just stood there. We couldn't exactly see her all that well, but it didn't matter. The horror that had eaten her face shone like the sun in a dark room. Smitty had to bite into his lip to keep from laughing. He tugged gently at my sleeve and lead me out the doors before she had a chance to look around for the culprit.

And we ran. We didn't look back. We didn't care. We laughed. We stopped once we reached the edge of the parking lot. 

“My turn to ask the questions. I'll start with: wasn't that reaction worth it?” I nodded. He suddenly jut out his hand, “The name’s Smitty. My next question is, what's yours?” I happily took his hand in mine and shoot it. I was startled to find how gentle he was. I was pleased to find how we just seemed to go together, hand in hand.

“John.” It took me a minute to remember my name.

“Simple. I like it. Well John, that leads me to my next and final question. You interested in helping me with any future cases?”

This, I learned, was his way of asking me to be friends. I never, not once in my life, wanted anything more than exactly that. 

That summer had been the best summer of my life. My parents didn't like Smitty. My father was worried that he was sent to ruin our family. My mother didn't like how happy he always was. I, on the other hand, loved him. I loved how much trouble we had the potential of getting into and how he always had an escape plan. I loved how I felt safe with him no matter what it was that we were doing. I loved how I didn't have to look over my shoulder with him the way I did everywhere else. 

Mid June that summer, he approached me excitedly. My father had warned me he was coming before he even reached our street. I was in the middle of throwing on my most flexible pair of pants when he attacked my doorbell as usual. My hungover mother let out a groan, one she'd repeat upon my slamming of the door. I didn't look over my shoulder when I left my street because I knew my father would be watching me.

“Listen up, Oz,” he chirped. I couldn't help but grin at the name he'd given me. He found the name to be a fitting one. I earned it one day when I told him that our little adventures were smoke and mirrors made to look like magic in the eyes of others. He said that in his eyes, I was a wizard capable of granting wishes. And Oz was my code name. 

We crossed the street and he began to head towards the closest walmart, “You're never too old to sneak things into other people’s shopping baskets. While I'll admit that's entertaining, it's also boring. Case J26. We’re going to follow the same person around their entire shopping trip and add whatever we can without getting noticed. This one’s going to be tough. We have a whole lot of witnesses capable of ratting us out so we have to be careful. That's only part of it.”

We got to the parking lot and he stopped me. His hand caught mine to keep me from moving and he watched a car pull in and hunt for its parking space. 

“First, we gotta find a target. Second, we wait for them to get out of an leave their car. Next, we break into their car and rearrange everything. Fix their mirrors, rearrange their car decorations, blast the air conditioning, everything! We gotta do that as quickly as we can. Think we can pull it off?”

“We've pulled off every other case before this, Seven, I think we’ll be fine.” Seven, short for 007, in the sense that he was the spy capable of sneaking in and out of situations, the best at what he did, and master of escapes. Houdini had been a close second, but seven won simply because he wasn't just escaping, he was helping me, he was my flying monkey. 

“That's what I like to hear!” 

He let go of my hand. It was an odd feeling whenever he did. His fit so perfectly in mine and I never wanted to let him go. 

The execution was painfully easy. He found our English teacher. Mr. Thomson was a fairly chill guy. He flirted with our PE teacher a lot, which we all thought was adorable. But he also handed out way too much homework. We felt no remorse that day he became our target.

He was an interesting man. He had his shopping list but never once glanced at it. He would slowly wander up and down aisles as if he wasn't sure why he was there. Then he'd get stuck struggling to choose between one brand or another. 

Smitty had gone first. Thomson had been in the deli aisle. He was hunched over the beef and the chicken, unable to decide between the two. Smitty walked past and quickly slipped a toothbrush into his partially filled cart. We decided to start small and gradually get larger. We'd take turns. If we ever got caught, whoever it was that got us caught had to buy the other one lunch for the next week. 

We were able to follow Thomson throughout the entire store. He never once seemed to realize that it wasn't him who added the box of cereal or the package of toilet paper. He never noticed the fourteen movies, the bags of rice, the box of tampons, the shoes, or the laundry detergent. Not until he was in line and putting everything onto the conveyer belt. It hit him slow. He only seemed to notice something was wrong when he started piecing together the fact that he hadn't even gone down certain aisles. 

He didn't seem too bothered by it, severely confused but not bothered. At least not until he stumbled upon the tampons. The man behind the register chuckled gently.

“Yo man, while you're at it, get your girl some chocolates!” Thomson looked as if he wanted to correct the clerk that they weren't his, that he didn't have any girls in his life, and that he had no idea how they got into his cart. Despite the fact that he was an English teacher, words failed him. He could only turn a frightening shade of pink and nod, throwing a Twix bar into the mix.

Smitty made us leave just before he finished checking out. He insisted we had to beat him to his car. We waited expectantly. Thomson threw everything into his trunk and sat down. He just sat there for a minute, greatly confused. Finally, after an agonizing wait, he turned on the car. The music blasted suddenly, the air was freezing and it belted him. He looked about dazed and quickly moved to fix things. He again sat for a bit and looked around.

“God?” He asked after a moment. 

“Yes,’tis I, god,” Smitty whispered to me. I clamped my hand over my mouth so as not to laugh. A task I would later find impossible.

Thomson tried to back out but stopped immediately upon realizing that all of his mirrors were messed up. He struggled to fix them and again he was still. He fished his phone from his pocket and held it to his ear and waited a moment. 

“Tyler? Yeah hey! Uh, you know about aging and stuff right? No! No you're not growing old-no, I'm fine, I think. At what age do people start to develop memory loss? No, we'll sort of. Listen, I just bought tampons and I have no recollection of ever going near the aisle. Tyler! I'll shove them up your ass if you keep this up. Oh well thanks, you've been a real help.” 

He then drove off, mumbling to himself. Smitty could only grin in triumph. These moment were what he lived for. Always the adventurer. 

That next school year we'd pass by our PE teacher and last year’s English teacher and over hear a joke about tampons and we'd both just giggle. 

That summer, we’d completed fifty seven cases. Forty three had been his ideas. But I think we can both agree that my last one was the best. I had pulled a series of pranks on him that in a way were much like a scavenger hunt. I lead him all the way from his own house to the library where we’d first met. I'd spent far too much money and time sticking each and every single note exactly where it needed to be. He'd spent hours dodging my pranks only to end up there.

“You know John,” he giggled upon reading the wall, “there are easier ways to go about asking someone out.” He then took his hands in mine and planted a kiss to my lips. He pulled back with a chuckle and admired my work.

“Not one would have ever worked better than this, though.”

He was right. It was worth everything to stay and wait for the reaction of others. It's always been the prize. I got lucky with my prize. I got Smitty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tada~  
> I diont know which pair to do next doe, might be a while for next ting ^_^u


	5. Hero Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for how short this one is just thought it'd be cute =)

He'd been down stairs in their shared kitchen. The laptop in front of him was being slow as usual and his patience was wearing thin. He was determined to finish this essay before the night was up so he pushed past his hate for the turtle slow internet as best as he could. His head was heavy in his hand. His eyes could barely stay open. “Sleep,” said his brain. 

He listened. Not intentionally. Maintains his patience with technology was exhausting work, he couldn't help it. No amount of coffee could have possibly saved him. His head slipped from his palm and landed on the keyboard. A neat row of Ys painted his essay. 

His dream had been sweet. He was in the mountains riding on a giant wooly mammoth throwing png cat pictures off of rocky cliff tops. Nyan cat’s theme played softly in the distance. Above him was the universe and its unblinking eye of the unknown. Snoop Dogg danced happily in the moon. Giant carpet, as he so dubbed the mammoth, made silly little piano noises in triumph. And his pants were ablaze atop his head. He'd never felt more free. His laughter carried gloriously through the mountains and png cat pictures continued to fall. 

All of a sudden his perfect world erupted! Snoop Dogg exploded. The cats were error signs. The mammoth was nothing more than a regular carpet and he wasn't in the mountains but back home. A scream had been what tore him away from the dream. A scream that had yet to die. 

He'd heard such a scream before, often times when playing a video game and the level was particularly stressful. He'd also heard it amongst the small children at parks who fell from their bikes and skinned their knees. The kind of scream that shatters the ear drums of all who heard it and made the blood go cold. 

“Scotty! Scotty! Scotty! Scotty!” The scream chanted, growing faster, more desperate, each time he repeated the name. 

Scotty groaned aloud, sparing a sad glance towards his unfinished essay. He frowned at the ten pages of random letters he'd accidentally created. He wanted to correct the issue then and there, but the screams refused to let up. Scotty peeled himself from the chair and made his way upstairs.

“What did you do?”

He found it funny how this response was his first instinctual question. He'd known Marcel long enough to know more often than not that those screams meant he'd made a mistake of sorts and wanted help fixing it. A broken window or a busted door. Something that happened entirely on accident. 

He pushed open Marcel’s door and froze. Marcel stood on one leg pressed as tight as he could get against the wall. He pointed as hard as he could at a small moving spot on the wall nearest to Scotty’s head. 

“Kill it! Scotty, kill it!” Tears fell from his eyes and he was noticeably shaking. Every throwable object within his reach had been removed and was now in a sad pile at the floor, clearly having been used as a weapon. But now Marcel stood defenceless and trapped by the godless killing machine. 

Scotty scanned the wall for what on earth caused all this noise. He chuckled when he spotted the dime sized spider. 

“You want me to kill this little guy? Why? He couldn't possibly hurt us.”

“It’ll kill us! We gotta kill it before it gets us,” Marcel barked quickly. Scotty rolled his eyes and pressed his pinky into the small creature. The crunch could just barely be heard. All that was left of the spider now was the disgusting yellow and red smear across the wall.

“There. I killed it. You happy?”

Marcel had seen many heroes growing up. His dad was one of them. His brother was another. He'd never met any woman more powerful than his mother. He looked up to his friends. He looked up to the side kicks who didn't get as much recognition as they deserved. He looked up to Batman. 

But never before had he met anyone more heroic than Scotty in that moment. There he was, a damsel in distress, clad in his sleep wear and fresh from a shower. He had been caught off guard, with no way of protecting himself, by the eight legged freak of nature. It mocked him through poorly done interpreted dance. It's little arms raised as if it were ready for a fight. Marcel thought he was doomed. He saw his life flash before his eyes. He saw that he was still too young to die, he wasn't ready, he wanted to live! The monster continued to dance its horrible dance. 

In burst Scotty, sleep deprived and sick of homework. Marcel had never seen such a disheveled hero. Despite his exhausted appearance, the nasty little turd goblin was no match for his prowess or strength. The beast now slain and Marcel was a free man! He'd been saved. 

He pushed himself from the wall and threw his arms about his savior. No words could possibly be strung together in any order to show just how thankful he was that he'd been rescued. He could only cry, sob really. 

Scotty stood there and let him. He felt that he'd done good. He'd been a good boyfriend. He also thought that his boyfriend, this mans, was adorable and a baby and needed to be protected. Boy was Marcel lucky to have Scotty. 

“My hero!” Marcel managed past his tears. Scotty gently freed himself from the iron hug and offered a small grin.

“Can I finish my homework now?”

Marcel nodded and that was that. It was as if there was never a spider in the room to begin with. The mess wasn't there at all, nope! No way! He happily climbed into bed and blew Scotty a kiss good night and within seconds after that he was fast asleep. Scotty watched a moment, amazed and bewildered. He chuckled at the whole situation before making his way back down stairs to correct his essay. 

What would Marcel do if he found out that Scotty never did crush the spider?


	8. Beat (Evan/ Delirious)

The guitar pick plucked drearily at the strings. A sour sound haunted the nearly empty room. It echoed back hollow and empty. The ghost of a song lingered, the summer sweet words whispering through muted tears.

Once, long ago, it would have been lively and cheerful. A room of bodies would move freely in time with it. There'd be laughter and drinks and late night winks. A man would sit at the table across from him with the most gorgeous smile and the best laugh.

Long ago, days, weeks, months, and now even years ago, he'd stare into those icy blue eyes and feel warm and safe at home no matter where he was. He could have been in the middle of nowhere struggling to read a water washed map, look up, and just know that he was where he was supposed to be.

It was a picture perfect afternoon, the one when they'd met. He'd been a traveling musician, praying for some big shot to notice him and finally make it big out there. Everyone said he had talent. Everyone told him he'd go far. They were all standing behind him, rooting for his success. He learned none of them mattered that evening. Every encouraging word he’d ever heard was suddenly meaningless. Every other complement was worth dirt. Every one else was a stranger he didn't mind forgetting about.

The candle lit diner made shadows dance playfully on his face. He leaned in, head held in his hands, all ears. Evan felt himself get lost retelling his accomplishments and his failures. He felt himself come alive when the other man smiled or laughed a he felt like he was high in the sky with mighty wings pushing him ever higher and he didn't want to come back down. Why would he when this stranger, this one in a million man was waiting for him.

He'd written his first hit single for him. He'd spent months writing it. Even after he released it, he wasn't happy with it. He felt that there needed to be more. He felt he could say so much more. He wanted to tell the other man every last emotion he felt when they were near. He wanted to explain how this man flooded his every thought. He just didn't know how.

He sang it over and over, desperate to get it just perfect. It had to be perfect. Because _he_ was perfect. He refused to give him anything less! He sang until his voice gave out and sang even through that. He plucked at those strings until his finger tips bruised and bled. He stayed up days at a time editing and fixing it.

He was nervous was all hell that summer's eve when he went to perform it for him. He'd gotten a paid gig. His first time in stage. Lights were blinding him. He didn't care. He could still see him from the stage and that's all that mattered. He looked him dead in the eye as he sang. He watched the other melt in his seat and he had to look away else he'd make a mistake.

When he finished the song, he went to greet the man. The two were dating, at long last!

Jonathan was perfect. He was fun, he knew every word to every song that played on the radio. He would hum along to the ones Evan composed. He would beg him to sing him to sleep. Evan was happy to give.

Not long after, Evan got his wish. A producer waltzed into view and with him came the promises of wealth, fame, success, power, and whatever other comforts Evan could possibly dream of. He and Jonathan had been thrilled. They leapt at the given opportunity. The door was wide open for Evan, some would argue that it always has been, but it was closed shut and locked for Jonathan. Evan found himself enveloped in this new world. He'd come home and tell magnificent tales to Jonathan. Jonathan would listen, fighting back the pain it was causing.

Just when Evan reached his peak in his career, Jonathan’s sister fell severely sick. Jonathan wanted nothing more than to return home to be with her. Evan had to stay here. He had a deadline. He had a contract to stick to. He had an album to release. So Jonathan when home alone.

Now whenever he heard Evan on the radio, he'd shut it off. Whenever he saw an arrival with his face printed anywhere on it, he'd pretend he was suddenly illiterate and or blind. He waited by the phone and checked the mail everyday. He stood by the door and watched the road. He didn't care about Evan’s success, he cared about Evan. But as time passed, and Van only grew in the music industry, he began to worry that Evan didn't share the same feelings.

He gave up on waiting. He'd waited for years. Not one letter. Not a phone call. Nothing but the sad memories attached to music played in everything.

Evan held his side of the contract. He'd done everything. He'd saved up enough to buy that ring. He'd pictured Jonathan wearing it and they'd be holding hands, old and happy together. He pictured how they'd cuddle and laugh and cry again just like old times. He thought about how they could finally be just them again. No more records. Not more contracts. No more producers. Just them.

He returned home just as happy and hopeful as when he left. But when he got back he found that Jonathan had left. Took of lf with a “friend” of him months ago. Neighbor's would tell about how they'd never seen Jonathan so happy with someone else before. They'd snicker and gossip about how they were most certain it wasn't just a friendship. No friendship, no matter how strong, was that... _touchy_.

Evan felt rage but only for a moment. It was quickly replaced with sorrow and self hate. He thought back on them and what they'd been. Now every love sick song he'd made was an insult, a vicious reminder of what once was and what could have been but wasn't.

He hopped from neighborhood to neighborhood always hoping to stumble upon him. He slept in hotels and motels alike. He waited by the phone anxiously. He asked around frequently. It was always the same. No one knew where he was or what he was doing these days. All they knew was that he took off as happy as a clown with the mechanic’s boy.

Evan would get paid to play at small places. That's all he was really good for anymore. Since his contract ended, he'd grown sad. His music, too, grew sad. Now his guitar coughed instead of roared. Now his voice ached instead of sang. He scanned the faces in the crowd hoping that he'd see him. He never did.

He stayed awake in his anonymous room, empty, alone, and sad. His guitar pick would pluck at the loose strings. They'd cry out, ugly and sour. He didn't care.

Then there came a knock at the door. He'd been hesitant to answer at first. He figured it wa room service. He figured if he ignored them long enough, they'd go away. They didn't. Annoyed, he'd gotten up to make them go away. He was shouting before he even opened the door. The sunlight of his hair blinded him. The blue of his eyes caught him off guard. His smile stole his breath away. And there Jonathan stood, in the flesh.

His friend, the one he'd taken off with, waved mightily before taking off on his own in his car. Jonathan grinned at Evan, pulling him inside. He was eager to catch up on everything. He was desperate to hear every story. He was anxiously awaiting the moment he could forget conversation and make up for lost time his favorite way. And Evan was happy to comply with his every last wish.

They made music together for many years after that. None of it ever made it to radio. How could it? It wasn't that type of music. No, it was their own. They had their own song composed of sweet kisses and gentle laughter. And it was the best sound Evan had ever heard. He loved it. There was nothing he wouldn't do to keep it this time.

 


	9. My Hit

The diner was in the middle of nowhere. Often times the customers were poor souls who were too lost to care. Truck drivers stopped by every now and again for a quick meal and to use the bathroom. The biker gang liked to line up every Sunday night and play poker till Monday rolled around. Still it had good business if you caught it on the right day at the right time. 

Brian had been watching this particular diner for weeks now. He liked its distance away from the police station. He liked how it didn't get much traffic. It was a place tucked away in the underbelly of the radar, easily forgotten and unknown. It was perfect.

He sat lazily at a booth near the door. The tv above the bar was on, the news was broadcasting softly into the quiet diner. The young blonde shone was describing the recent armed robbery, taking time to try and describe small details about the culprit at hand. 

“Witnesses say he was a white male, brown hair, brown eyes, and hid his face behind a grey mask.” 

Brian grinned upon hearing this. His mask was tucked neatly away in his pocket at the second. It was ready to go when ever he was. He wanted to pretend to leave first so as not to draw too much attention to himself. Forniw he was happy just watching the place. He was happy listening to the blonde describe him.

“He was last seen wearing a grey hoodie and dark jeans-” now was a minute. He never once robbed a place in a grey hoodie. He very much prefered his black leather jacket. Who the fuck was this guy going on about?

As if some upper being had heard him, a man walked in. His face was hidden behind a grey mask, the gun in hand was held steady. He aimed the damned thing at the TV and blasted the poor thing away, quickly and efficiently capturing the attention of all in the diner. He sighed loudly.

“Approximately 5”10 and of a smaller build. The police do not recommend you approach him as he has been reported to have been seen with several firearms. Please report immediately if spotted,” he finished mockingly. The waiter had ducked behind the bar and was trying his best to stay out of sight. The small, and hopelessly lost family who'd just stopped by to get directions, was cowering in the corner, the children sobbing loudly. The man looked from terrified face to shocked face. He turned to the manager who'd rushed out to see what all the noise was about.

“You know the drill, buddy. Hand over everything valuable and no one gets hurt.” Brian found it oddly unsettling how this stranger handed out his demands with such a calm voice. He wasn't angry, or stressed, or pressed for time. He was patient and relaxed. Calculated. 

The manager quickly began emptying the cash registers stuffing the contents into one of the “to go” bags. She tossed it over hurriedly. The stranger chuckled darkly, his gun clicking.

“I said every thing valuable. Rings, watches, jewelry, all of it. I want it all.” The woman hesitated a second before ripping the bracelets free from her wrist and chucked her wedding ring in with the mix. She turned to the others.

“Common now, just do as the man says,” she urged gently. The cowering family instantly began giving up earrings and what little cash they had left on them. The waiter just tossed his whole wallet, not bothering to fish out whatever he felt was valuable. Brian didn't move. Part of him wanted to test this man. Another part wanted to kill this man. Who did he think he was? This place was his to rob! 

The stranger collected his new found treasures, inspecting everything carefully. He humphed at the wedding ring the manager had tossed and quickly handed it back.

“That thing’s worthless. Plastic and cheap. Thanks anyway way. Hope you all have a good rest of your day.” And with that he turned on his heel and walked out to his car. 

No one moved. They were scared to. Brian watched the man closely, memorizing his every move. His eyes lingered on the car, taking in every last detail of its rusted shell, beat up bumpers, and worn out tires. The license plate numbers clung to the back of his mind. This punk was going to pay. His car started up and he took off, his laughter was able to be heard just barely over the roar of the engine.

The manager quickly fell to tears. The waiter rushed to help the small family. Brian pushed himself from his seat and fled from the diner. He watched the car become a speck in the distance before running to his. This fucker was going to pay! The smug piece of shit.

He couldn't care about the speed limit. He knew that there'd be no one around to stop him from speeding. He fished around in his glove box for his gun. He slipped his mask over his face and removed the safety. He was gaining on the stranger with a great amount of ease. They, for whatever reason, were driving several miles below speed limit. It was as if he were taunting him. 

The man ahead of him suddenly reached out his window and threw the stolen cash. The dollar bills fluttered about like leaves during a lovely autumn breeze. The jewelry he'd collected followed shortly after. What a prick! 

Brian cocked his gun and took careful aim. His arm jolted back when he fired. The man in front of him swerved, his tire now popped and useless. Another shot had him spinning out of control until he came to a complete stop. Brian pulled over and hopped out his car, keeping his gun ready and waiting, finger on the trigger. He waited for the stranger to emerge from his car. He was itching to just pop this mother fucker and be done with it.

The stranger just laughed. He hopped out as if he'd just been on the world's best roller coaster. He pointed to Brian with a cheeky grin, now revealed as his mask was snug tight in his fist.

“I think you missed your target, sir. Here, I'll quit moving. Common, you got a clear shot. Take it.”

Brian really wasn't liking the balls on this one. He glanced nervously towards the stranger’s car. For this man to be so relaxed there had to be someone else with him to help him out. But no one was there. This shit head was alone. 

“You're a cocky little prick, aren't you?” He bitched, moving to push the stranger further away from his car and farther out into the open. The stranger happily moved into place, his smile never dying. 

“Well now, I doubt I'd be a very successful robber if I was shy and uncertain. Wouldn't you agree?”

“That was my hit!"

“Pardon-?”

Brian took a warning step closer, silencing the other in a heartbeat. A fire was lighting in the pits of his stomach. At the moment, he was almost positive that this man wasn't going to survive this ordeal. 

“That was mine! I'd been there for weeks! You can't just swoop in and take that from me! Just who the fuck so you think you are?”

“You must be Terroriser then,” the man muttered. Brian had been taught to read people. He'd learned to follow body language and interpret it into meanings. He was alarmed when this already lax man fell seemingly more comfortable. As if discovering that the man holding him at gun point’s criminal alter ego was nothing more than a sibling he hadn't seen in a few months. 

“You've heard about me then?”

“Yeah. You suck.”

“Excuse me?”

“Yeah, you're terrible. Absolutely irritating!” Brian's jaw dropped. This man had guts, he'd admit it. The other took a seat, picking out the burrs that were snagged in the soles of his boots. “You lose control over the situation too easily, you're sloppy when you get away, you leave too much evidence behind, you're just as. I mean, look at us. Here you have me at gunpoint, perfectly capable of ending my life at any given moment, and yet here I am, telling you that I don't like your robbing style without a single doubt in my mind that I'll be living to see not just tomorrow but next week! You're bad at what you do!”

“I should shoot you right now.”

The manager back, resting his head on his arms. He stared peacefully up at the sky.

“And what would you get out of that?”

“I'd get you to shut up is what I'd get!”

“Then why haven't you pulled the trigger yet?” His eyes followed the clouds lazily. “See, I know you won't kill me. If you wanted to, you wouldn't have shot out my tires, you'd have shot me. You're not going to shoot me either or you already would have by now.” 

Brian lowered the gun slowly. The man had a point. He never hesitated like that before. It didn't matter who it was in front of him, he'd have pulled the trigger long ago. So why was this any different. The stranger sat up, dusting himself off a second before extending a hand with an overwhelmingly friendly smile.

“The name’s Ohm. Help me up and I'll show you how to properly rob a place.”

Brian didn't know why he tucked his gun away into his holdover and pulled Ohm up to his feet, taking the offered hand in a firm grip and shaking it. He didn't know why he followed Ohm to his truck. He didn't know why he was perfectly fine with Ohm driving. All he knew was that he wasn't going to regret it.


	10. The Ghost on the Shore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ohmtoonz and some Kriity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, it's not happy

Grandpa sat at the foot of my bed. He tucked my purple and pink stuffed pig gently between me and the blanket so that she rested cozily upon my chest. He smiled once he was sure that it was perfect. He dramatically pulled free a book from under his arm and struggled to put his spectacles upon his face. He gave a slight chuckle at my giggles that followed such a silly act. But my giggles died, and with hem went his chuckle. I trained my ears. The house was quiet. So quiet that I could hear everything outside. The soft hiss of the waves of the lake pushing sand. The neighbors wind chimes. Everything. Including a sad man quietly crying. Grandpa grew still to try and hear what it was that had me so startled. His face grew dark and he turned towards the window. He slowly got to his tired feet and hobbled over to open the shutters.

Our view was perfect. With only a few bushes to interrupt our gaze, we could see the whole lake. Our boats lay tied up to our fence. They bobbed along to the tune. Across from us stood a much smaller house that had fallen apart years ago. I always wanted to go and explore it. I saw a fleeing dog, I saw a running tumble weed, I did not see who it was that sang out in such a somber tone. 

“What is it Grandpa?” 

He stared out for a while longer. He set the book aside and sighed heavily. He returned to the foot of my bed where he had originally been. He took the glasses from his face and let them dangle around his neck. He pat my knee twice before clearing his throat. 

“You hear him too then?”

I nodded. How could you not? There was hardly any other noise to over power him. I watched the shadows dance on his face as he pondered something for a moment. 

“What is it?” I asked, hoping to prompt him into speaking again. He looked at me and frowned.

“I don't think that's a good bedtime story.”

I sat up defiantly. Everytime I came to visit grandpa I'd hear this man cry out. I never saw him. I felt that five was old enough to know the truth. I was practically a grown up by now. I wanted to know. I needed to know. 

“Who is he and what hurts him so?”

Grandpa watched me for a long time. I thought he was going to get up, kiss me on the forehead and leave me alone to wonder for the rest of the night. But I saw a twitch of pain behind his tired eyes. He gave in. He pointed across the room and out the window.

“There once lived a man in that abandoned shack. He'd been born on the lake and that's where he was doomed to stay. His parents were fishers, like I am. His mother would cut up the fish and sell them in the market while he and his father caught them. When the boy was young, younger than you, his mother didn't come back home. Depending in who you ask, they’ll tell you she ran away from the poverty sick family. The boy struggled to take up his mother’s job. And when he was twelve, his father grew sick and died. The boy was alone.”

I pouted. I would cry all night too if I lost both my parents. I clung to my stuffed pig and stared at the small shack. I couldn't imagine anyone being able to live in there. Grandpa went on.

“He took over his parent’s business. He fished. It was hard work and he hardly had time to rest. And it seemed that no matter how much fish he caught and sold, he could never afford to so much as eat. He thought about giving up many times and running away from this town. He never did.”

“Well why not?” It was perfectly logical for him to leave there was nothing for him here. He wasn't making enough money to eat, his parents were gone, that thing was where he lived. I'd run away and I'd never look back. 

“Well, he found reason to stay.”

“I doubt that.”

“No, he did! He was in the market, selling his fish like always. A man, a very wealthy man, known and loved by all, found his little fish stand and bought everything. He did the same thing the week after that. And after that. And after that too.”

I tore my gaze away from the shack and gave my grandpa a quizzical look. Just because some rich dude bought some fish wouldn't make me stay. Grandpa appeared to read this on my face. He gave a light chuckle and ruffled my hair.

“Luke was a noble’s son. He never had to work a day in his life. He woke up, ran a bell, and people brought him a menu for breakfast, which he ate in bed. He was cheerful and told jokes. People liked him. And his money. People treated whatever Luke said as law. They determined their likes off of his. So on the fifth week, the people noticed that Like only bought his fish from this one fisherman. And suddenly everybody did.”

I sat back, impressed. I couldn't imaging wielding such a power. And if I had any such power, I certainly wouldn't use it for good. Several people popped into my head and I grinned at the awful things I'd do to them. I put my villainous thoughts aside when the man’s cries returned. I gave Grandpa back my attention.

“This helped the fisherman a lot. He was able to eat regularly, he bought a better boat, he started making business. He started saving up money whenever he could. He had enough saved up by the third month that he could buy a lovely house and better cloths. He didn't. As nice as business had been, he still wanted away from this town. But he never left.”

Now I was angry. This man didn't seem very smart to me. I would have left in a heartbeat.

“See, Luke stopped by to collect fish early before the crowds could take it all. He startled the poor fisherman. He wound up capsized in the lake. He lost his fish for the day. Luke felt bad. He paid for the fish anyway and helped the fisherman get everything back to shore. The two started talking. A friendship was born.”

I smiled at this. I could understand. My thoughts drifted back home to the school boy who I'd die for. And I smiled wider knowing that he'd die for me. If I had the fisherman’s life, I'd stay for him. 

“They spoke on well after the sun set and even on until morning. The fisherman felt bad because he had to end the fun so that he could fish. Luke admit that he'd never fished before in his life. So the fisherman offered to show him how. Luke readily agreed. They didn't catch many fish. Luke’s excited yelling when he actually caught anything startled the fish away. They took whatever they had and sold it. Like had so much fun that he wanted to repay the fisherman. So he bought a week's worth of fish in advance so that the fisherman would hurt financially for a day off. He then took the fisherman to see the world of luxury he lived in. They went horseback riding, fencing, ate fancy food, and went to a play. The fisherman had a wonderful time.”

I laid back. In my opinion, this story was complete. The sad fisherman found happiness. The rich man had given the fisherman what he needed most. That's how all of my bedtime stories ended. I was happy to let this one end here too. But then Grandpa kept talking. 

“They thought that this would be a one time thing. But it started happening regularly. Luke would pay for fish he knew he'd never get and take the fisherman out to explore with him. Or the fisherman would teach Luke how to tie knots and how to get fish. They spent days together. It was a beautiful friendship. But it wasn't to remain so.”

I frowned. Why not? What could possibly happen that could take away this joy? Did the rich boy get bored and move on? Grandpa smiled. His hands fiddled with his glasses.

"It wasn't to remain so because they fell in love instead.”

I smiled again. I could see that happening. I loved my friends too. And that's how stories always go. You meet the one who finally makes you happy and you fall in love. Satisfied with this happily ever after, I tugged my blankets up to my neck and prepared my mind for sleep.

“That wasn't ok.” I stopped and gave my grandpa a curious look. 

“Why not?”

“I don't know. But it just wasn't ok for one man to love another. It was frowned upon. So the two hid their love. They would sneak out when the night was dead and dark. They kept smiles to a minimum when in public. They didn't hold hands unless they knew that they were alone. Nevertheless, they lived each other. Very much. They were going to run away together. They wanted to see the world together. They couldn't stand spending time apart. Luke had bought a ring. He was going to ask the fisherman to marry him.”

Happily ever after? The town realizes how silly it is that two people can't love each other because they're both men and they let them be happy? Is that how the story ends? Because that's how the story should end. 

“Despite how hard they hid their love, it did not remain hidden. The butcher watched Luke flee from the fisherman’s house. The fisherman watched after him longingly. And the butcher knew. So the butcher went back into town. There he grabbed two more friends, the hunter and the lumberer. They returned to the fisherman’s shack. They tied him up in a burlap sack and beat him until he could no longer move. Then, they took his boat and rowed out into the middle of the lake. And drowned him. They added rocks into the sack and watched him sink.”

The face I made had to have startled my grandpa a little. He moved to give me a hug and remind me of my stuffed pig’s existence. I clung to both. What cruel people!

“The fisherman didn't do anything wrong!”

“They thought he did. And having killed him, they felt like they'd done the world a favor. They went into town to celebrate. Luke came back, ring in his pocket, ready to whisk his lover away. When he couldn't find the fisherman at home, he figured that he was in the market selling. But he wasn't there either. He went to the bar to ask around. It was there that he overheard the fate that had befallen upon his beloved. Luke was heart broken.”

Well yeah! God if John died… I couldn't think about that. For some reason that hurt much more than thinking about if my parents died. I wiped the tears from my face and motioned for my grandpa to continue.

“Luke was so sad that he went home and went to bed. He didn't get up in the morning. he refused breakfast. He didn't drink any water. He didn't go fencing or horse back riding. He stayed in his bed, in the dark. He got sick. In agony and feeling so very alone, one week after the fisherman had been murdered, he got up and took his father’s best hunting knife. He killed himself.beneath the spot where the two had shared their first kiss. Hed hopes that they'd get to be together in death. 

“He was found by the Gardner in the morning.His parents gave him an extravagant funeral. His grave upon the church grounds in one of the most visited, the most decorated spit there. Many wept for the loss. But none more so than the fisherman. You see, Luke got a proper burial. His grave is marked. The fisherman knows not where he rests. None can remember his name. He is forced to remain here, on Earth. Now he wanders the length of the lake waiting for the love of his life to return. He cries. Can you hear him?”

I swallowed the lump in my throat and held still to hear the heart broken weeping. I nodded. I could hear him and all the pain he carried in his shoulders. 

“What was his name?”

“Hmm?”

“His name. What was it?”

Grandpa looked away from me and back out the window. He scrunched his face in hard thought. 

“Ryan. But we called him Ohm.” 

“Poor Ryan.” 

I gave a yawn. The story had exhausted me more than I could admit. Grandpa repeated my last sentence and dabbed at my face with his sleeve to dry my tears. He kissed me good night and left me to sleep. And as tired as I was, sleep could not come to me. His cries echoed in my head. I could bare it no more. 

I arose from my bed and made my way outside. I found my grandpa’s chisel and the flattest stone in the yard. I then walked the length of the lake until if found the rotting little shack. I sat down in the corner and began to carve into the stone. I finished when the first rays of day began to shine. I wiped the sweat from my brow and moved into the sunlight. I drive the slab of stone deep into the sand. I stared down at my work with pride. Here lies Ryan, but we called him Ohm. Drowned in the lake for loving another. I dusted the stray grains of sand away and turned back to face grandpa's house and the rest of the lake. 

I almost couldn't believe my eyes. I saw him. He emerged from the lake as if he were walking up stairs. He then walked along the surface of the water. His cries seemingly came from everywhere but from him. He stopped at the small slab I made him and pat my head in thanks before walking on. I watched him go, amazed. My little heart nearly stopped when I saw a second ghostly figure appear with wide open arms. The two ran to each other, together at last, and vanished once they finally got to embrace the other again. The crying was replaced by laughter. I felt alive. I walked back home, to Grandpa’s butcher shop, now barring a new resentment towards him. That never died. Even after he did. But the crying stopped. Now, every now and again, if you timed the sun rise just right, you could hear them giggle. 

I'm older now, fourteen years older, and I know that the world is far from perfect. But sitting there on the beach about seven feet away from the stone slab I carved with John’s hand in mine, it almost feels like the world truley was perfect. 

And I'd hear them laugh.


	11. This love this hate ( Brock/ Marcel, pining brian, pining Scotty)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have some short angst right before my finals because I love you <3

There's these feelings I think everyone has at least once in their life. Forgive me, I'm not a poet and I know there are people who are far more capable of putting it into words than I ever will be, but that doesn't matter because sometimes it doesn't take poetry, or songs, or dramatic movies to get the emotion across. It's a universal feeling. Like the feelings of overwhelming joy when you get home after a long day and finally get to sit down. Or the feeling of annoyance when someone you dislike decides to bother you just as you get comfortable. Or the feeling of fear when your parents included your middle name when they shout at you. Universal feelings.

Heart ache is an odd one. There are so many types and forms of it. There's the feeling you get when a pet dies. The feeling of when you watch that same sad movie and the same scene hits you in the face (for me, that will forever be Lilo and Stitch, when the sisters are waiting for the social worker to take Lilo away after Stitch leaves). There's that heart ache you get when your parents get mad at you for something you couldn't control. The heart ache you get when you feel like a failure. Heartache is a monster in many forms. 

But there’s one form that has torn me apart beyond all that. See, it's my belief that love is the main cause of heart ache. It is heart ache. 

I loved my dog. I loved Lilo and Stitch. I loved my parents. And I love Brock. 

There are some people who are super quick to love. Not to me. See, I grew up under the heavy influence that men weren't allowed to cry, smile, laugh, or be human. Men didn't love, that was girly. Men were cold and emotionless. So I distanced myself. I grew angry. I thought love was this stupid idea that weak people fantasized because they were pathetic and desperate. 

Then I met Brock. He was this tiny and sweet guy who couldn't say anything mean about anyone even if he tried. He loved puns and jokes and dogs. He got easily excited about cartoons from his childhood. He was quiet for the most part, awakened and shy, but he could talk for hours if you brought up a topic he liked. 

This boy, this magical boy, took my father’s strict teachings and he threw them away. I loved Brock. I loved his smile, his giggle, the way he'd draw stars and Xs into his jeans when he got bored, the way he'd grin when I caught him doing something bad, the way he'd tilt his head when he got confused, the way he kicked his feet off the bed. I loved how warm his hands always were. I loved how he'd let me hold him close. I loved how when he'd get tired, he'd just lean into me and hum softly to some random and abstract tune. I loved how he’d trace the patterns of my jacket and shirt with his pinky. 

See when Brock loved something, the way I love Brock, you could tell. He got this certain look. When he saw a dog, his eyes would bulge, his cheeks would pinch, he'd get jumpy and he'd fall into a fit of giggles. It was one of my favorite things to see, Brock being genuinely happy. He got so happy so easily, too. 

Now you see, Brock would get this giddy with a lot of things. Dogs, kittens, Skittles, the color pink, Marcel, but not with me. Never with me. Not the same way he did with Marcel. With me, he'd smile and he'd stare, but never at me. Always through me. When we held hands it was because I asked and because he couldn't bring himself to say no. When he got giddy with me, it was because I mentioned something he really loved. 

When he was with Marcel, he'd stay giddy. He'd beam. He was radiant. He was so fucking happy. 

We'd be walking down the halls in the middle of a conversation. It didn't matter what it was about or who was talking. The second Brock spotted Marcel, or god forbid the other way around, he'd leave my side and walk besides him and I'd just be a distant memory.

Marcel was kind to me. He'd invite me to places with them. He tried to be friendly but I knew I was third wheeling. I watched this man steal my Brock away. 

He could so easily take Brock’s breath away, take his heart, make him swoon and sigh. Brock would get this sort of happy high whenever he thought of Marcel. Their fingers would interlock with each other. Marcel would apologize using sweet, quick kisses. Brock would tease with playful puns. At first, I’d always been there. As time drew on, Brock came to me less and less and stayed with Marcel, visiting me only when he was lonely.

That's the feeling of heart ache I'm talking about. The pain you feel when you see him happy, but not with you. That agony you put yourself in when you offer advice to help start and save their relationship. The anguish deep inside when you see him so much happier with someone else than he'd ever be with you. That bone crushing feeling you get when you watch him slowly forget you. That torturous feeling of loving someone unconditionally when they could never love you the same way. 

God I love Brock. But Brock doesn't love me. He loves Marcel, and Marcel loves him back. And I can do nothing to stop it because I love seeing Brock happy and I would never be able to live with myself if I ever hurt him. That feeling of heartache. I know you've felt it too. 

You've had to. I know because you get the same look in your eyes when you see Marcel that I get when I see Brock. You'd do anything to make him happy, you'd even sacrifice your own happiness. And it kills you inside knowing that he’ll never fully understand nor appreciate the pain you put yourself through whenever you go to talk to him or let alone see him. To him, you'll always be “just a friend” and you'll pretend that it doesn't hurt. You hate Brock. Just as I hate Marcel. Believe me Scotty, I understand. But we won't do anything. You know why? We don't want to put them through that heartache.


	12. Princess (mini/Ohm)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Imma et and work in some more rare pairs in this mess somehow

Ohm was far from ordinary. He was this little adventure caged in a human body. He was careless and free. He didn't follow the rules he didn't care for. No one could control him. He was an untamable force that drove people mad. 

He always carried about him a large cloud of feigned confidence. A shit eating grin pulled the corner of his lips up ever so slightly. He watched the world around him with calculating eyes that sparkled and gleamed. He wore his heart on his cheek, pretty and pink. 

When he walked in the room all eyes were drawn towards him. He was this hot mess people tried to ignore but just couldn't. He was the gossip amongst groups you'd never think he'd ever get tangled up with. Yet somehow you couldn't go one week without hearing about this guy.

A player, they labeled him. He treated love like a game and he was good at playing. He used loose heartstrings to pull his victims about. He kept them wrapped around his fingers even after they fell apart. A hit it and quit it kind of guy disguising his intentions behind a disaster of a relationship that never lasted more than a month. 

He was the kind of man mothers warm their kid away from when it came to lovers. He was a beacon of blindingly bright light in a city of moths. He was irresistible. And one by one, people fell like dominoes at his feet for him to trample. 

Mini had only heard stories of the guy. He'd meet up with his friends to go bowling every Friday night after they all got out of class. Luke had once been their shining star, the unbeatable champion of the bowling alley! People used to bet on his games knowing full well that they'd win. Then he met Ohm. See, Luke was a man of stone. It was nearly impossible to break or bend that man. The second Ohm stepped into the picture, Luke crumbled. His friends would tease him about how whipped he was. Mini would listen to Luke babble on for hours about Ohm. He'd learned all about Ohm’s games. Hed heard the tales of the magic he could perform in bed. He knew about how wild Ohm was.

He watched Luke fall in love with the man. He watched the two play a game of cat and mouse. Luke had gone insane trying to win Ohm’s praise. When he finally earned it, he bent backwards to keep it. But Ohm was a star not meant to be held by human hands. Luke could do nothing as Ohm slipped from his fingers and burned every bridge they'd ever built between them. Luke hadn't been the same since. His bowling suffered greatly. Jonathan had to talk with him for hours to coax him out of the bouts of depression he'd tumble into. 

So when Mini was seated alone at one of the tables, and Ohm approached, he was of course apprehensive. He was irritated by his computer's refusal to connect to the internet. At first he'd mistaken Ohm for the barista or a friend who'd happened to spot him. It had been Ohm’s voice that drew his attention away from his computer. He felt his heart catch in his throat and he didn't want to look Ohm in the eye. Luke had gone on and on about them. They were forests, tranquil and welcoming, easy to get lost in. They'd been what had drawn Luke to the man in the first place. Mini was terrified they'd pull him in too.

Ohm took a seat as if he'd known Mini all his life. That stupid smirk of his already decorated his face. His hands were folded patiently in front of him. He watched Mini struggle a moment.

“No caps,” he spoke. Mini had no fucking clue what the hell that meant. He shot the man an irritated glare. He wasn't in the mood to be bothered by a pretentious asshole. Ohm chuckled deeply, “The password doesn't have any capitols in it. It's ad82ghif, all lowercase.” 

Mini rolled his eyes. He was halfway through telling this fuck bag that he'd already tried that, and to prove it he went to enter it again, when it finally let him in. His words fell dead on his tongue. He watched the stubborn computer do as it was supposed to with a new found ease. It was as if even it had fallen for the charmer seated across from it. 

“I'm Oh-”

“Ohm. Yeah, I know who you are,” Mini spat. In all honesty, he wasn't a fan of this man. He didn't like the devastating state he'd left Luke in. He wasn't about to let the same thing happen to him. Besides, who dates a friend’s ex? 

“Oh really now? How do you know about me if I don't know about you?” Mini hated the cheery tone he kept using. This man practically sang every word. Could he really not be more obvious? Mini rolled his eyes. 

“You have quite the reputation.”

“Can you blame me?”

The sentence caught Mini off guard. He looked up from his homework to study Ohm a moment to make sure he heard him right. The guy was a bigger narcissist that he'd originally thought. Ohm held up a hand to try and explain himself.

“Think of it this way; there are seven billion people in this world. All our lives we’re told that there's some Prince Charming out there waiting for us. I'm searching for mine is all.”

Mini suppressed a disbelieving laugh and returned to his soon to be late homework. “Have you found him yet?”

“I don't know. See if love worked the way it does in movies, I’d’ve found them years ago. My poor little heart would have started to sing, I’d’ve been able to understand animals, and we'd sing the cutest duet together as we rode off into the sunset on some mystical unicorn strangely named Ted. But this isn't a movie. There is no such thing as love at first sight.”

“So you speed date?”

“How else am I supposed to find him? It's not like he’ll fall from the sky or some shit. What I'm doing makes sense to me.” Ohm entertained his hands with Mini’s receipt. Mini eyed him for a moment. 

He felt like talking to Ohm was like talking to those stupid porn bots. He felt like no matter what he said, he'd only get some sappy response meant to lure him into a trap that's caught too many to count. Answering Ohm was like clicking the link the bots would send. Dating him would be the virus that would later kill the computer. Ohm was something best left alone. 

But he was far more intriguing than a porn bot. He was an adventure in every sense of the word. He was this roller coaster everybody wanted to try at least once in their lives. He was an addictive thrill. Nicotine. And he had a long line of chainsmokers just itching to win him back. Mini wasn't exactly straight edge, but he didn't want to go around experimenting, especially with something as dangerous as Ohm. He had to admit though, he was curious. 

“You've broken a lot of hearts in your searching,” Mini mumbled. Ohm grinned a bit, appearing disinterested in the topic at hand. He shrugged lightly and set the receipt back down.

“That’s not my intention.”

“What if you don't have a Prince Charming? What if you're going around breaking hearts looking for someone who doesn't exist?”

“How will I ever know? See, I know he's out there, and i know he's worth looking for. I know he's out there looking for me too. Eventually we’ll run into each other. It just takes some time. Some trial and error if you will. He's probably having the same problems.” Ohm chuckled a bit at the face Mini made. Oh great. A pair of players hooking up sounded like the plot to some crappy rom com that’d get canceled episode 13 in the first season. He couldn't imagine it. 

“And if he’s not?”

“Then he's no Prince Charming of mine.”

Mini stared at his incomplete homework. He knew he needed to finish it up. But he just couldn't bring himself to pay any mind to it. It was significantly less interesting than the strange character before him. He closed the laptop and pushed it to the side.

“So this is how you look for him? You flirt with strangers and hope they're the one? Sounds flaky.”

“Is it working then?”

Mini cracked a small grin. He hated to admit it, but yeah. It was working. He vaguely wondered if Luke felt the same when Ohm had first approached him. Was Luke also cautious and suspecting? What tricks had Ohm pulled to get the brute of a man to fall for him? What tricks did this man still have hidden up his sleeve? He did enjoy a good surprise. He felt defeated when he finally gave in and decided to let Ohm play this game. It had to be an entertaining one if he managed to lure in so many. 

“Alright, Ohm. You win. I'll be your Prince Charming for a week.”

“Just a week? Oh common now, I think you can last longer than that. Give yourself credit where credit is due.” Mini cocked an eyebrow. Ohm giggled and leaned back in his seat. He pulled the pen out of Mini’s notes and scribbled in neat and even loops on the back of the receipt he'd been toying with it long ago. He slid it across the table when he was done.

“Maybe we can go exploring sometime,” he chirped with a wink before excusing himself. Mini watched him go before taking the receipt up in his hands to inspect the number, address, and small note left behind. 

The guys we're gonna throw a fit when they found out about this. But he didn't care at the moment. He had a princess to win over.

**Author's Note:**

> If you wanna send prompts my way, I gots a Tumblr?  
> You can find me @ UFokinWotMate  
> I'm also a bit quiet, forgive me!


End file.
